


The Direwolf Cloak

by sunkelles



Series: Femslash February 2015 [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: ADWD spoilers, Character Study, Cute little kids having fake weddings, F/F, Femslash, Femslash February, Fluff, Semi-Canon Compliant, Surprise!!, and starts being tragic, and then it stops being fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-03-10 05:49:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3279068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunkelles/pseuds/sunkelles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When they were young, Sansa wrapped Jeyne in a direwolf cloak and tried to marry her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Direwolf Cloak

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so a while ago I wrote a piece on Sansa/Jeyne P because I’d been thinking about them as an item since agot. After agot, I was really angry and confused about why we never learned of Jeyne’s fate.
> 
> In adwd, that changed, and this my reaction. My characterization of Jeyne is not exactly canon, based on her convo before the wedding with Theon, but I like it. I wanted to try something, so I did. I hope that you enjoy.

Jeyne is eight when Sansa decides that they should wed. Children, once they discover that they have a secret, are quick to share it with their best friends. Jeyne is no exception, and shared with Sansa that she envied her for her status the night before.

“I can make you a Stark,” she says that morning with a pleased smile, the sort that all children get when they’ve thought of something particularly clever. Sansa grabs the grey cloak with the black direwolf embroidered on it.

“Won’t we get in trouble?” Jeyne whispers in a frantic tone.

Sansa smiles and reassures her, “Robb did it with Bethany Flint last year. No one will care.” Jeyne doesn’t offer any more protests, because she doesn’t want to. Even as a child, she knows that difference between a fake wedding and a real one, but she can’t say that she doesn’t want to marry Sansa, real or not.                                                                                      

 

They gather winter roses that day and make Jeyne a bouquet to hold, and then they hurry to the heart tree.  

Jeyne and Sansa both know the gist of the wedding vows said across Westeros; every little girl does. They flow freely from their lips, and they do it quickly, eager to get to the part where the Maiden's Cloak is exchanged for the Bride's. 

 

She wraps the cloak around Jeyne’s shoulder, and her bright smile brings joy to Jeyne’s heart. Septa Mordane walks in on their small wedding and screams.

“What are you two doing?” She demands, loudly, with as much dignity as a flabbergasted septa can manage.

Sansa turns as red as her hair and Jeyne can feel herself blush as well.

“Women cannot wed each other,” the septa asserts harshly.

“Sansa will marry some highborn lord,” she nearly screeches, “and Jeyne will be fortunate if she can wed one of Lord Stark's household knights!" 

“I’m sorry,” Sansa says, her eyes red and wet with shameful tears. Jeyne cries too, but for a different reason. She’d never known that women couldn’t marry each other, not truly, and now she’ll never be able to wed Sansa. She’s the best friend that Jeyne’s ever had, and she’s not sure if she’ll ever love her husband as much as she loves Sansa.

* * *

 

 

Her betrothed shoves the cloak roughly into her face. Jeyne knows better than to refuse it. After such a long time as a whore, she knows how to take what’s given to her, even though she wants to scream and cry.

“Put it on,” he demands roughly. They’re in the godswood, just beyond the rest of the wedding party. She can see the weirwood and its blood red leaves.

If she were really Arya, she would shove the cloak in his face and try to kill him with her bare hands. Arya would scream and cry and scratch and bite, from the wedding to the bedding to anything that might come afterward. Arya was never a proper lady. She would have fought and clawed with this horrible man for the rest of her life, while Jeyne will simply curl into a submissive ball and hope he decides to spare her Theon’s fate. Sometimes, Jeyne wonders if life isn’t easier for the brave; at least Arya’s end would come quickly.

She wraps the cloak around her shoulders, and finds herself thinking of another time in the godswood, so long ago it seems almost a dream now.

She got married, or as close as children playing at a wedding can get, long ago, when she and Sansa were young and naive and didn’t know that their affections would have to be kept secret. This will be an even bigger farce, but it will be the one she’s stuck with.

It’s a lot like a mummers’ show. Her betrothed, a brutish bastard, plays the part of a highborn, civilized lord, while Jeyne, a steward’s daughter who loved a lady plays her lady’s long dead sister. Even Theon Greyjoy, who is to give her away, is playing a role. He’ll be clad in the finest clothes and gloves, and pretend that her betrothed hasn’t broken both his body and his mind. It would be funny, if it weren’t her life the gods were toying with.

She’ll be called Arya for all of her days, after the girl she mocked and bullied, but wished to be. She’ll be a Stark, though now she wishes that she’d never wanted it.

Ramsay Bolton (Snow, he’s as much a bastard as Jon) is a terrifying, sadistic man, but he is still the man she is to marry. He will rip the Stark cloak (Sansa’s cloak) from her shoulders and replace it with his flayed man.

 

 

He wraps the Bolton cloak, pink like flesh, around her shoulders. The words come out softly, but her tears don’t. They’re accompanied by brutal, ugly sobs. They’re ugly tears for a doomed girl. 

She says her vows and she seals her doom.


End file.
